A Memory For One
by rabbit keys
Summary: In which Steve and Bucky are roaring drunk, Steve's never had his first kiss, and memories are fickle. Three parts. Written because I love Lexi's tears.
1. Before The War Came

"Where'd you get that?" Steve asks as Bucky breaks out the booze.

He's sitting on the couch at Bucky's place. No one's home but them, and twilight is just settling in over the city.

"I stole it from my parents. Don't tell 'em," Bucky says with a smirk as he gets two glasses; one for him and one for Steve.

"I won't. But is this a good idea?" Steve wonders. Bucky pours them both some alcohol and sits down next to him.

"Think of it as an adventure. There's a first time for everything, and it's best if it's with someone you trust, right?" Bucky raises his eyebrows. "Bottoms up."

Steve watches Bucky down the entire glass with ease and gets that determined look on his face, the one he gets whenever someone tells him he can't do something or when some bully knocks him down. He drinks, but has to stop when he chokes, spluttering and coughing. Bucky panics and grabs Steve by the shoulder with one hand and pats his back with the other, because god Steve is just ninety pounds of health problems and if he dies because Bucky didn't want to drink alone-

But he recovers. "Gosh, that stuff burns. I love it."

Bucky loves Steve's nose crinkle and wide grin. He pours them more.

They drink a lot more than they should. Bucky can barely stand up straight and he's hot all over. Steve is worse, with skinny knees that're wobbling and bony fingers that clutch the countertop in order to stay upright.

Somehow, the "first times" topic comes up again. Bucky tells Steve about his first kiss.

"She was the prettiest dame I've ever seen, even to this day," he finishes with a happy sigh and another sip of alcohol. "What was your first kiss like, punk?"

Steve stares at the ground and mumbles something.

Oh? What's this? Bucky's eyes widen with glee. "What did you say?"

Steve straightens and lifts his chin defiantly. "I said, 'I've never had a first kiss.'"

Bucky howls with delight. "Steve's never had a first kiss, Steve's never had a first kiss!" He teases, shoving his friend lightly on the arm.

"Aww, shut it, jerk!" Steve tackles Bucky, who lets Steve's (not heavy enough, never heavy enough) weight drive him to the ground. He squirms and they wrestle playfully, with Steve giving everything he's got and Bucky pretending to do the same. He lets Steve come out on top, straddling him and pinning his arms to the floor with.

"I win," Steve proclaimed triumphantly.

"Yeah, but you still haven't had your first kiss, so who's the real winner here?" Bucky's grin is easy and his voice is slurring and god, Steve's drunkenly flushed face is so cute.

"There'll be a first time. Someday." Steve mutters with embarassment.

Bucky's voice becomes soft. "Wouldn't it be best if it was with someone you trust?"

Steve's pretty baby blues snap over to him, flicking rapidly. Bucky stares back. They're both very aware of how warm it is, then, and how Steve is positioned on top of Bucky. Bucky's head comes up, and he smells the alcohol on Steve's nervous breath.

And then they're kissing, and Steve is small and light and eager and it's everything Bucky has ever wanted. He can taste the booze in Steve's mouth and he loves the way Steve hasn't let go of his wrists. They're drunk and they're not thinking this through but Bucky doesn't care. He just wants everything about Steve so much, wants his lips and his eyes and his voice and his laugh and his skinny little body. Their kiss is perfect and rough and Bucky has a flitting thought that hey, maybe he should slow down for a second, but he knows he's not gonna do more than kiss Steve right now so he shoves the thought away and focuses on the important thing: kissing Steve Rogers.

.

He wakes up the next day on the floor with a thick blanket thrown over him. He smells something good coming from the kitchen, which is weird.

"Good morning, Bucky!" Steve whispers after peeking his head in the doorway. "I have a really bad headache and I bet it's your fault!"

The events from the previous night come back to Bucky in a rush and he feels a pang of fear. He kissed Steve. He kissed Steve.

And Steve is...still here? Making breakfast?

"Yeah, definitely my fault." Bucky sits up with a groan.

"I woke up this morning and had no idea how I ended up on the floor with you snoring your head off next to me. I remember getting drunk but everything got sort of fuzzy after that." Steve frowns, trying to concentrate on remembering.

And, oh, that hurts. That hurts so much. There's a flood of guilt and relief and longing and pain that smothers Bucky until he wants to scream and his heart is aching, because Steve doesn't remember. It's the highlight of Bucky's life and Steve's first kiss, something special and precious, and _Steve doesn't remember._

At least now Steve won't know how dirty his best friend is_,_ he thinks. How tainted. For wanting, _needing_, to kiss his best friend, his male best friend. For feeling these things for another man.

"Bucky? Is something wrong?"

Steve's concern brings him back to real life immediately. Bucky paints a smile on his face. "Nothing's wrong, punk, except for the burning smell coming from whatever you're cooking."

Steve blurts one of those adorable "gosh darn-it!"s and hurries off. Bucky lets the smile fall off his face.

_It's for the best, _he tries to convince himself. _It's good that he doesn't remember. It's good. It's _good_. _


	2. Delete

He doesn't know who or where he is. He doesn't know why these men keep ordering him around and beating him and telling him soothing things in soft, poisonous voices. He knows the Chair, the thing they strap him into to fry him and take things away. He doesn't remember what they take away, or how much, but he knows how empty he feels without the memories they've stolen.

He's only got one left, and he means to keep it.

There's a blue-eyed, blond-haired man, and his lips are soft and he's so fragile, yet not, because he kisses roughly and survives. The man is bony and weighs little but he's so full of love and hope. He's important.

The memory makes him defy them again, however. When they come into his cage with their pristine white lab costs they daintily hold above the dirt and blood and shit and they say, "Will you come willingly, now?" he says no because that's what the man with his rushed kisses would want, he knows somehow. This memory of this man he needs to protect makes him resist.

So they take that away from him, too, and then he has nothing.


	3. Someone You Trust

Bucky watches the birds outside quietly, curled up on the armchair in a strangely child-like position. His long, dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and the bags under his eyes aren't quite as big as they used to be. The big hoodie and sweatpants are warm and soft against his skin, and the room smells of peaches.

He hasn't called himself the Soldier in months. He's calling himself Bucky- trying to get used to the name. More and more memories have been coming back, much to Steve's delight- and sometimes even Bucky's delight.

(He almost never shares the rough ones with Steve, even though he knows Steve knows that they're coming back, too. He knows that Steve hears him whimpering in his sleep when the nightmares come.)

Steve is in the other armchair, the bigger one with the ugly plaid print ("It's not ugly!" Steve had protested hotly when Bucky commented on it), sketching something, Bucky isn't sure what. He doesn't ask. Steve would show him if he did, but Bucky doesn't want to interrupt him.

Steve sighs and sets the sketchbook to the side. He notices Bucky sitting with nothing to do (something Bucky doesn't mind that much, if he had to be honest). "Do you want something to drink?"

Bucky thinks about it. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Milk, apple juice, water. There's alcohol, too. Not mine. Fury left it for me." Steve gets up and heads to the kitchen.

Something about alcohol makes Bucky pause. "You drink alcohol?"

"Yeah, I do." Steve smiled fondly, and Bucky can tell he's remembering something. "You introduced me to the drink, actually. Well. I'd known alcohol existed, obviously, but you were the one who made me try it."

"I didn't make you," Bucky said, and then he froze. He smells the alcohol- he can almost taste it- and Steve hasn't even gotten it out yet.

Steve is frozen, too, and he doesn't move, doesn't make a sound. He doesn't want to risk Bucky losing whatever he's trying to remember.

_"First time" - "someone you trust, right?" - "an adventure" - kissing and blue eyes and he's so frail and it's dark and kissing, god, the kissing- "Steve's never had a first kiss!" -_

"Steve," he says suddenly. "Steve. Steve, do you remember- do you remember the night we got drunk because I took alcohol from my parents, and I was teasing you about how you'd never had a first kiss, and then you tackled me and I kissed you?" He looks to Steve with wide eyes, desperate for validation. He needs to know if this one is real, because this one feels important. He'd kissed Steve after stealing alcohol from his parents, and then Steve hadn't hated him- why would Steve hate him? He's not sure- and it was Steve's first kiss. This one feels real and _important_.

Steve gets that look on his face. The look that screams how close Bucky was, but how wrong, and how disappointing that was for him, despite trying so hard to be encouraging when Bucky fails. He swallows. "No, Buck," he says gently.

Bucky feels something inside him ache and he looks away, unable to meet Steve's eyes. He was so close. He could feel it. The memory was so real, how could it be untrue? Had he imagined it? Had he just wanted to kiss Steve so he imagined kissing him? But that didn't feel right at all. He'd kissed him. He _had_.

* * *

Neither of them mention the incident again, but sometimes, if the nightmare was too terrifying or if he was so low he couldn't bear to even speak, Bucky would think about that not-memory and try to feel the happiness he'd imagined in that moment. He kept it close, clinging to the illusion like a drowning man clings to a life preserver.


End file.
